Eighteen
That evening, Fiona leaned against the cool metal of the serving counter, her heart racing as she caught sight of Ru.
He was prepping for the evening service, moving with a grace that belied the frenetic energy of the kitchen.
His skin glistened under the bright fluorescent lights as he nimbly sliced vegetables, each motion precise and deliberate.
The sweet aroma of caramelizing onions permeated the air.
She waited briefly, checking for Josh or George in the stockroom.
Once she was sure they were alone, she grabbed his attention. ‘Ru!’
He looked up, his dark eyes locking onto hers for a fleeting moment before darting away, back to his work. ‘Fiona, I’ve got a lot to do before service starts,’ he replied, his tone clipped, as if the idea of conversation exhausted him.
Her heart twisted. ‘It’s important,’ she insisted, her voice rising slightly above the kitchen clatter. ‘I need to talk to you about something.’
‘Can’t it wait? I’m in the middle of prepping,’ he replied coldly, not even looking around at her.
His shoulders were tense. She could sense the wall he was putting up between them.
It was what she’d asked for and what she knew she needed, yet she felt a pang of hurt, nonetheless.
She pushed aside the sorrow. She was here to help him without going backwards in her attempt to fall out of love with him.
He was making that part easier, at least. ‘Ru, please put the knife down for a minute.’ she said, her voice softer now, almost pleading.
Finally, he paused, setting down his knife and turning to face her fully. ‘What do you want?’ he shot back, his tone sharper than she expected.
Fiona felt warmth rise to her cheeks, the frustration bubbling inside her.
‘I have something to say that will help you!’
Ru’s gaze hardened, and she felt the air thicken between them. ‘I saw you.’
She flinched. ‘Saw me?’
‘With Josh. First on the beach, then in Prosecco in fact, he looked almost amused. ‘No harm done.’
Fiona became aware of how close they were standing. She caught a whiff of lime mingling with basil and oregano, the smell so comforting, familiar. For a moment, neither of them spoke.
Then Kim cleared her throat loudly, breaking the spell, and stepping between them with a clean napkin, shoving Fiona out of the way. ‘How clumsy. Let me help you with that.’
Fiona stepped back, her heart sinking as she noticed the way Kim blotted Ru’s jacket with unnecessary fuss, pressing her hands against muscles she knew to be toned – until recently she used to be the one to stroke them.
He didn’t move away, but he looked past Kim’s shoulder, catching Fiona’s eye for just a second and she felt a jolt of hope, certain she saw a spark there – something that looked almost like regret.
At five o’clock on Monday, the doorbell rang. ‘That’s your date,’ said Ivy, smiling coyly. ‘Are you going to invite him in to meet me?’
Fiona rolled her eyes. ‘It’s a thank you, not a date.’
‘As you like.’ said her aunt, kissing her cheek. ‘Enjoy yourself.’
Fiona answered the door. Outside, Josh stood wearing a hoodie, with his hands thrust into his trouser pockets. ‘Hi,’ he said, grinning. ‘Ready?’
She smiled. He opened the garden gate for her and pointed at a small white van, the words The Smuggler’s Inn, Brambleton written above an artist’s sketch of the pub. ‘George let me borrow the van. Saves on taxis.’
She appreciated avoiding a long bus wait, but suspected George and Rose would paint this as a date and dreaded their teasing .
.. and Ru’s anger. She settled herself in the passenger seat, acutely conscious of Josh’s presence.
Today, sitting beside him felt awkward. She knew talking would help and asked him about surfing.
For the next fifteen minutes Fiona let him eulogize about his sport, interjecting with nods and probing questions.
‘Sounds like I’ve got you hooked,’ he ribbed. ‘Fancy another lesson?’
Lulled by the comfortable atmosphere in the cabin, she asked why, if he loved the sport, he gave up being a professional. ‘I know you said it was your parents’ dream, but didn’t it become yours too?’
‘For a while,’ he admitted, ‘but then I discovered there’s so much more to life.’
‘As a teenager!’ she mocked. ‘Must have been a girl.’
He became serious. ‘A woman, yes, but not a girl ...’
‘Sounds mysterious.’
‘Remember I told you about my gran?’
She nodded.